


XOXO Love, Dodo

by SYNdicate930



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: ALL THE "TEEN" TAGS, Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Flirting, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Halloween, Love Letters, M/M, Romantic Comedy, School Dances, Teen Angst, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenage Dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SYNdicate930/pseuds/SYNdicate930
Summary: In which Chae Hyungwon loses a bet and attends a senior party dressed as a chick, Hoseok becomes enamored with a girl named Chae Dodo, Kihyun sees an opportunity to get back at the popular kids, and Jooheon sees a recipe for disaster.ORHyungwon is just your average dude, Wonho is a jock with a heart of gold but douchey friends, Kihyun is bullied for his height, Jooheon is hipster as HECK, I.M is I.M, Shownu thinks Kihyun is really cute, and Minhyuk is richer than you’ll ever be.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Grade 12 - Shownu/Wonho/Minhyuk  
> Grade 11 - Kihyun/Hyungwon  
> Grade 10 - Jooheon/I.M
> 
> ALSO ALSO ALSO I was inspired after seeing their Lens Town photos, specifically the ones where they are split into three groups: Shownu and Wonho, I.M and Minhyuk, and then Jooheon, Kihyun, and Hyungwon. I thought Shownu and Wonho looked like the popular jocks, I.M and Minhyuk as the popular rich kids the first two are friends with, and Jooheon, Kihyun and Hyungwon are your everyday childhood friends. Please go find and look at those before reading lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know who Dodo is or know what this is in reference to, you're missing out. Go watch the second season of MONSTA X-RAY pls and ty xoxo

**October 27th - Friday - 20:01**

 

October brings to mind unnecessary trains of thought - take Halloween for instance. Though, I strongly believe Halloween is primarily the biggest offender and source of these daft thoughts and even dafter ideas.  _ What should I dress as? What party should we hit up? What party should we crash?  _ Thankfully, this year, I’ve been a recipient of an actual invitation to an actual Halloween party, though, it is more so by association than anyone taking a particular interest or liking to me. I’m relatively plain and nothing about me sticks out nicely aside from my height, but my gangly limbs and fragile torso portray what is supposed to be my best feature as awkward result of puberty I hope to grow into soon. It’s not my fault putting on and keeping weight is as laborious as it is for Jooheon to lose weight, who has become considerably insecure about his chubby cheeks and thighs as of lately. I’m just genetically predisposed to look like those inflatable tube-men outside car dealerships, I guess. 

 

“This is crazy, you guys know that, right? No one’s going to let me live this down.” Turning to them, I fix my hair, combing my fingers through the wig's long brown locks, unused to the feeling of hair reaching my waist and elbows. As a matter of fact, I’m extremely unused to a lot of what I am faced with right now - the most devastating being these four inch heels Jooheon let me borrow. I’ve poked and prodded him with an explanation as to why he has size 9 high heels conveniently stored in the corner of his closet, just behind an old acoustic guitar with the cracked neck, but he won’t answer Kihyun or I. Suspicious, yes. Unexpected, no, not really.  

 

Jooheon, just a year my junior, is our charismatic friend with the tough outer shell but squishy insides that prevent either Kihyun or I for staying mad for long, if at all, when bumps and bruises occur as they do in a long-running friendship such as ours. “The freshest of sophomore” he often raps without warning in reference to himself as he runs a hand through his hair, has definitely matured the most out of he, Kihyun, and I since we were children. Somehow well-acquainted with one of the school’s richest and, by default, most popular students, Jooheon was given an invitation by Im Changkyun just a few weeks back. He inquired on behalf of Kihyun and I, terribly uncomfortable by the mere notion of any sort of optional social setting in our absence, regarding extra invitations  _ “for my friends” _ he said. Thankfully, Changkyun had enough to spare and stated a somewhat cheesy  _ “Minhyuk doesn’t know I have extras, but, just for you, you can have them” _   before being slipped a pair of black and orange invitation, and waving goodbye for the day as last period came to a close. Kihyun was initially apprehensive, wondering how Jooheon could trust a popular kid, or why he thought we would be willing to go, but, of course, was won over by his cute demeanor. How could Kihyun (or I) say no to him? 

 

Presently, the two are seated on the edge of my bed while I take one last glance at myself through my mirror, wincing as if violently slapped. I _hate_ what I see. Or at least the embarrassment that swells in my chest.

 

With a long, silken black cape tied around their necks, the insides lined a beguiling, amorous shade of red, with foundation slightly lighter than their actually complexions to give off the appearance of lifelessness, my two companions have opted for the easy way out - _vampires_. Again, for some reason, Jooheon has in his possession enough makeup to go around but, once again, this comes as no surprise. It probably has something to do with his mother so badly wishing she had a daughter, and often forgetting that was not the hand she was dealt sixteen years ago, despite loving him as dearly as she does. Leaning back, Kihyun lies on his back with outstretched arms atop my bed with dark lipstick as if blood on his lips contrasting his lightened skin greatly. Taking one last glance at me before shutting his eyes, he groans, “Hyungwon, please, get over it, you look fine. Besides, it’s too late to go back now.”

 

“You look pretty, though.” Compliments Jooheon with a shrug. Kihyun and I turn to look at him, Kihyun rising from his flat position into a slouched, upright position against the headboard of my bed. His bright reddish hair and lovely-shaped eyes are even more striking with a full face of makeup and smoked-out eyeliner. Jooheon, too. I wish I could say the same about me. The foundation they applied does nothing by emphasize the zit on my chin, and the lipstick makes my mouth look even bigger than it normally does, even when applied in a soft gradient. “Like, you’re skinny and have a pretty face like a girl.”

 

“I’m flattered, but I can’t help but feel insulted.” 

 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Chimes in Kihyun. “The more I look at you, the prettier you look? It’s hard to explain.” 

 

To get you, dear reader, up to speed, let’s just say I, feeling overconfident for once in my life, bet I could pass my last biology test with a mark higher than Kihyun after forcing myself to study for what felt like a quarter of my life expectancy  (but, in actuality, was the better part of the weekend leading up to that fateful Monday afternoon). Jooheon’s mark would’ve been included as well if we weren’t in separate grades; it wouldn’t be fair considering the considerable spike in difficulty between first and second year science.  _ “Dude, I studied so damn well for this test. If I do worse than you, I will go to the party this weekend in whatever costume you guys can think of” _ was what I proposed, only to be half a percent lower than Kihyun, whose 84% just barely out-ranked my 83.5%. In my defense, I received half a mark on one question for misspelling “organism” as “orgasm” while rushing to answer during the last couple minutes of class. To add insult to injury, their idea of a halloween costume is to throw me in a dress and wig in an attempt to pass me off as a girl - this time, the dress and wig are thanks to Kihyun’s cousin, a theatre major at a local college. Having known me since I was little, she was confused, but, according to Kihyun, didn't ask any questions. 

 

“Thanks? I look and incredibly feel stupid.” I admit uncomfortably tugging the dress lower, only for the stubborn cotton to refuse. “There’s also _too_ much of a breeze going on down _there_.” 

 

“Sucks to suck. Remember, you did this to yourself. But, if it’s worth anything, all the dumb popular kids are going to be so wasted, they won’t even remember it’s you. Those idiots... they should be conserving what little brain cells they have left instead of wiping them out with cheap beer and their parents' Vodka.” Continues Kihyun, his disdain for the popular kids rearing its vengeful, ugly head as it so often likes to do. After one bad run in during our first week of freshman year that's escalated in more frequent unsavory encounters in the past couple of years, he’s developed an ever-growing hatred that has yet to subside or even contemplate of doing so. At times, it feels unnecessary to dislike someone so deeply without knowing them, yet, when they do awful things like bully and mock him for his height, take advantage of Jooheon’s faint-heart and insecurities for jokes at his expense, and generally treat me like dirt, Kihyun's disdain is unquestionable justified. “If anything, I bet they don’t even know who you are to begin with. They may be garbage human beings to us, but, at the end of the day, you're just some tall kid they pick on who's friends with 'the really short guy' and 'the guy who's easy to scare with the dimples.'"

 

The more I mull it over, the idea somewhat assists in calming previously erratic feelings of embarrassment and growing anxiety. Even if Kihyun, Jooheon and I recognize me and, unfortunately, will remember this until we grow old, fortunately, no one else in attendance will; after all, even if I am tall and stick out like a sore-thumb when beside my classmates, who ever really remembers the wallflower? With a sigh, I resign and take one last look at myself before we leave, tucking my hair behind my ears, fixing my lipstick one last time, and taking one last glance at my reflection. 

 

"You guys were right, I am kind of pretty." 


	2. Thriller and Mullets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess. 
> 
> Grade 12 - Shownu/Wonho/Minhyuk  
> Grade 11 - Kihyun/Hyungwon  
> Grade 10 - Jooheon/I.M

**October 27th - Friday - 20:59**

 

I often ponder the hierarchies teenagers often categorizes themselves and each other in. Though, even as I ruminate this over with a yawn and awkward breeze between my bare legs - which Kihyun and Jooheon made me shave, mind you, with the reason of _“if you’re going to do it, don’t half-ass it_ ” - I am swayed by some innate knowledge that while I’m not unpopular necessarily, as, by definition, I’m actually rather very well-favored generally, I am definitely not “popular”.

 

The difficulty at which I prescribe to explaining this is on equal footing to very little in my short lifespan; as difficult as attempting to comprehend my English teacher when she spirals off into philosophical tangents, and how Jooheon goes from spitting fire in the backseat of my car to KPOP instrumentals to, at times, being scared of his own shadow. It’s one of those things that just is how it is. While I cannot place my finger on it, something feels wrong in being out here tonight; I’m neither startling attractive, athletic and on any sort of sports team, nor rich - I’m not popular, and that’s alright. What isn’t is the sense of not belonging tonight that never lets me forget I really, really shouldn’t be here.

 

Locking the door of my shitty red minivan with the Dragon Ball Z decal on the back window corner, a beloved sentiment gifted to me by my parents (along with the car as a whole), the three of us amble down the street. In the distance, we can hear the very distinct rhythm of Thriller coming from the direction of Minhyuk’s house, and both Kihyun and Jooheon begin to sing along. We’re just close enough to see it (however, with a home as gargantuan as his, how could anyone with decent vision possibly miss it?), but far enough that my toes and ankles throb sorely from Jooheon’s high heels amidst a brisk walk over. It’s a mystery as to how I didn’t dislocate an ankle - but, as they say, the night is still young. Oh, so very, _very_ young. Kihyun is shivering from the cold as per usually. He uses the silken cape of his vampire costume to shield himself from every light, dainty breeze that feels like ice on my thighs.

 

“I’m already starting to regret this.” Kihyun mutters as we cross the street, catching me when I stumble over myself. What most people are often unaware of us the somewhat disproportionate strength Kihyun will randomly exhibit. If he wanted to, he could throw me like a javelin, but, as of lately, I’ve begun to wonder if this is a statement of this strength, or merely my body’s helplessness in the face of weight gain. “Jesus, Hyungwon, get a hold of yourself.”

 

“I would if I could. I don’t understand how women or Jooheon wear this without breaking an ankle.” I reply.

 

“I don’t.” Jooheon argues back.

 

Kihyun and I stop to look at him. Kihyun’s brows furrow. “Jooheon, your mom and none of the women you know own heels that are a men’s size nine.”

 

“But -”

 

“We still love you either way.”

 

“But -”

 

A car de-accelerates beside us, just enough to follows up to us, their windows rolled down as the blast what sounds like Kendrick Lamar. A blaring honk punctuated by loud whistles and calls of ‘nice legs!’, and ‘damn, girl!’ startle me and never - absolutely never - have I ever felt so disgusted and irritated by another person as I do now.  

 

“Hey, girl, why don’t you ditch the two losers and hop in with us?” The asshole in the passenger seat hollers, biting his lip in the most pretentious manner. Is that a bad mullet I see? Like, a really, _really_ bad mullet? “What’s a tall model like you doing with such a short dude, anyway?”

 

I don’t notice I’m still holding onto Kihyun until he violently prys himself away from me, crossing over the patch of grass, standing beside the stop-sign, with a furrow in his brown and protruding vein in his temple. Jooheon and I have to hold him back by his waist and arms, certain he’ll put himself in danger, or go out of his way to spite this person, like kicking this guy’s car or spit at him. The struggle Jooheon and I make to force Kihyun in place is surprising, as his unexpected strength has made itself presence loud and clear, dragging Jooheon and I a couple of feet with brute force. But, the longer this guy rambles on, the more I wish I was less sensible, or at least spiteful enough to let Kihyun do as he pleases. Kihyun definitely has the strength, but it’s hard to say if he knows little (or at all) about fighting. “I’m not short - you mullet wearing mess of a human.”

 

“Wow, your man sure has anger issues.” One of them shouts at me, and I bite my lip, knowing better than to give into my growing annoyance.

 

A car behind them begins honking so, with little to no choice, they speed away laughing and, of course, shoot me one last string of catcalls before disappearing uphill, further into the rich part of town. Though abrupt and incredibly distressing, this episode is very short lived and I am grateful it has gone away as suddenly and quickly as it had begun.

 

“Yeah, that’s right! Keep driving or I’ll rip that ugly looking mullet  and shove it so far up your -”

 

“Kihyun, calm down.” Jooheon squeezes his arm. Somehow, this is enough to lower Kihyun’s boisterous voice and inflated temper. “It’s alright, dude.”

 

“Since when the hell was five feet and eight inches short?” Kihyun grumbles, arms crossed. Jooheon and I release him, and we continue our journey to Minhyuk’s house, shoulders heavy and drained. The night has yet to commence, and, if we’ve already run into this much trouble. Given our combined luck, we’re inevitably doomed. “I know I was just complaining about the populars drinking and getting drunk, but, honestly I wouldn’t mind a shot of Vodka right now.”

 

“Same.” Even Jooheon, our little energizer bunny, is hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion.

 

“No - absolutely not. The last time you guys got drunk, who did you end up buying a new pair of jeans and shoes for?” I inquire, talking over Kihyun, who mutters curses under his breath. The two shut their mouths instantly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You guys are not putting me through that again, especially tonight. I’m not wearing pants, you guys. If you vomit on me this time, it’ll literally be right onto my body and that’s beyond gross.”

 

With a deep roll of his eyes, Kihyun submits, “Fine. I mean, it’s already fishy we’re being invited here in the first place, so we might as well stay alert. After all -”

 

 _“You can’t trust the popular kids.”_ All three of us say in unison.

 

**October 27th - Friday - 21:15**

 

While I don’t despise house parties nearly as much as Kihyun is infuriated when called ‘cute’ or Jooheon dislikes horror movies, I’ve come to terms that they are merely a high school growing pain I have yet to comfortably familiarize myself with, though, I admittedly do not receive enough invitations to even feasibly attempt doing so. Then again, would I actually go out more if I was invited often? It’s really hard to say. It ultimately depends on my ever fluctuating mood and Jooheon’s cursed level of persuasiveness. Parties, along with first dates, the topic of ‘virginity’, and acne are but a few growing pains I’ve no idea how to tackle. That last one is particularly onerous to manage, and I’m absolutely certain wearing what feels like a dozen layers of foundation patted down with ashy powder doesn’t help.

 

Self-consciously, I play with the wig to mask my proliferating anxiety swelling deep within my abdomen and enormous zit. My mom says I’ll grow out of this skin situation one day like she did, but, until then, it’s nothing but a colossal pain and embarrassment. I hope “one day” is sooner than it is possibly later. Maybe I’ll stop by the drugstore tomorrow and pick something up. Hopefully it won’t burn my skin.

 

As expected from one of the most well-off kids at school, hier to one of the wealthiest families in our city, Lee Minhyuk’s four story house is nothing less than luxurious - as if manifested from a dream or a BTS music video. The ceiling is high and extravagant, the marble floors are pristine despite the rowdy adolescents that trample and spill their drinks upon it haphazardly, and everything appears so immaculate to an unreal degree, just being here gives me a sense of nervousness - _what if I break something_ ? Knowing my severe lack of tact, even glancing at something is enough to shatter it, or at least leave a some sort of crack or indentation. My two left feet are put to a near debilitating disadvantage in Jooheon’s heavy high heels, which creating an echo of _‘click’s_ and _‘clack’s_ with every agonizing, risky stride. Hopefully my parents’ insurance covers dumb things like breaking an ankle while walking in heels. I pray whatever medical staff would assist me does not laugh, but, honestly, I would laugh at me. But, like, in the backroom or something - at least not right in my face.

 

No one appears to notice me, and I am immediately put at ease. At most, there are quick glances in my direction, but nothing that lingers long enough to force my face to flare up in a fit of nervousness. Maybe Kihyun is right - everyone is so drunk, they don’t realize I’m some guy, that it’s Chae Hyungwon in a white and red-plaid dress and sub-par makeup job (no offence to Jooheon and Kihyun). Realistically, none of the popular students at school interact with me outside rude shoves and stares in the hall, so I’m doubtful they would be able to recall my face even if they took a good, long look at me.

 

For the good part of an hour, I remain silent behind Kihyun and Jooheon, who, considerably more sociable than myself, converse and chat with the people they know and some of their classmates who also received invitations from Changkyun. I deem it best to keep my mouth shut, knowing full well my deep voice is certain to draw more attention than I am already not comfortable with. I try to conceal my face in fear that our peers may recognize me, but no one does while I scroll down Instagram on my phone, utilizing my hair as a makeshift curtain to conceal myself however I can. Although,  it doesn’t help at all that I can see well over Kihyun’s head when placed behind him. If anything, the difference in height, exacerbated comedically by the addition of four inches from Jooheon’s high heels, is accentuated severely.

 

 _“Who’s that?”_ someone will ask.

 

 _“Our friend from out of town. She’s really shy.”_ Kihyun answers.

 

 _“Where’s Hyungwon?”_ another asks.

 

 _“Oh, he has work tonight.”_ Jooheon replies.

 

And just like that, I’m safe and undiscovered. Which is actually rather shocking, as I don’t see much of a difference in my appearance.

 

I guess people must really be that drunk.

 

Or stupid.

 

**October 27th - Friday - 22:15**

 

People  are drinking in every direction, in the kitchen to my left, the hallway before me, the designer living room to my right filled to the bring with red cups of dubious contents and boys and girls making poor decisions, and, truthfully, I’m incredibly disinterested. I’ve tasted beer before at Kihyun’s cottage this past summer and experienced an off-hand run-in with white wine in Jooheon’s basement just last month, but both times have been substantially less than ideal. I would like to emphasize that the beer was nowhere near as gruelling and surprisingly prolonged of an experience as the wine fiasco; the blaring headache, incurable churning of my gut and the length of time at which I was hunched over my toilet is definitely something I will never forget.

 

“Yo, look who’s here!” Bellows one of the jocks in the kitchen, who, for the most part, have gone a good hour without harassing any of us or our extended friends. A new record. Like young and, undoubtedly, mindless dominos, we all turn to watch our latest guest enter and, I’m somehow even less interested, the alabaster front doors creaking open softly. With a degree of confidence I wish I too possessed, with crisply molded jaws held high, almost as if royalty, in stroll our school’s most beloved jocks: Lee Hoseok and Son Hyunwoo, our quarterback and football captain (“ _respectively_ ”). “Hey, Hoseok, Hyunwoo - this way in the kitchen! We’re just about to take shots.”

 

“You all better take it easy.” Chides Hyunwoo, standing at an impenetrable six feet with the most intimidating set of shoulders I’ve seen on a high schooler. As unforgiving as I make the popular kids out to be, Hyunwoo is quite the outlier - he reprimands athletes, both on our football team and other sports teams affiliated with our school, such as the pompous basketball team, dance team and cheer squad (though, what really is the difference between these last two?), whenever they step out of line. I like to view him positively, but Kihyun argues he only admonishes them so academic and extracurricular penalties aren’t attributed to their team. Last season, we barely made it to finals after Hoseok was apparently caught fooling around with some cheerleader in the bathroom during a school dance and was subsequently banned from two games. _Apparently_.

 

Hoseok, akin to Hyunwoo in an unexpected selection of a presumed inherent good-nature and amiable disposition, is not that unpleasant to be near. The last, and possibly only, real unpalatable encounter we’ve had was in my freshman year, his sophomore year, where we had  to tear apart Kihyun and Minhyuk in the middle of the hallway after an uncomfortable graze of shoulders on the way to second period. A sharp glare and stern, “I’ll watch Minhyuk, but you better watch him” was all he left me with before parting ways, ambling down from the west wing with Minhyuk’s stick-figure in tow. Since then, all I’ve had to mold my opinion of him is a prolonged list of rumors regarding his somehow public sex-life, and the visibly cold and bitter face he wears whenever in his presence. Despite the unhidden disdain and irritation, rolling his eyes, and deep frowning, he, at surface level, is fairly reasonable.

 

At least I can somewhat rely on him not to resort to physical means of humiliation - he can drag our names through the mud as much as he and his friends want, but, if I remember correctly, Kihyun, Jooheon and I loved playing in the rain and mud when we were children. The world ought to take indignity in better stride. We’d be a remarkably empathetic generation if we allotted enough time to properly laugh at ourselves in place of one another. But, you know, that’s just the immature idealist in me. What would I, at a homely seventeen years of age, know about humanity’s, particularly adolescents’, imperfections?

 

Hoseok and Hyunwoo, homologous to Kihyun and Jooheon, are dressed as vampires. Upon closer inspection as they meander past towards the kitchen, it appears to be the exact same costume Kihyun and Jooheon purchased a few days back. Greeting them is a loud screech that vibrates within my ears an echo reminiscent to that of a dolphin, practically-ultrasonic, yet discernibly Minhyuk, who  appears in my line of sight, hugging and greeting Hoseok and Hyunwoo earnestly.

 

Shyly, I excuse myself from Kihyun, Jooheon, and their friends to use the washroom to give my feet some rest. I’d sit on one of the living room couches, but, apparently, every available surface, cushioned or hard as Minhyuk’s designer coffee table, act as the breeding ground for girls in less than modest attire, beckoning for, of course, Lee Hoseok. I roll my eyes.

 

It’s hard to tell if I don’t like him, or if I wish I were him.

 

**October 27th - Friday - 22:06**

 

A cheap costume, a couple of cheap drinks, and an even cheaper sense of pride and content; this is the peculiarly empty sentiment which October, particularly Halloween, fills me with. There’s an unrealistic pressure to wear a costume - an eye-catching costume, the uttermost perfect costume - as if high school isn’t already a God forsaken breathing ground for this very sentiment every other day of the year. It’s rare to come across someone my age who isn’t wearing some sort of mask. Do I reserve the right to say “nowadays”, or, by nature itself, are adolescents such as myself simply doomed to guard their fragile self-image, and annihilate others in a vague attempt to preserve whatever premature sense of “self-love” (if you could even refer to such puerile fumbling as) everyone yearns so desperately to blossom maturely, sincerely?

 

“Wow, that’s really deep.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry, you were doing that thing where you talk to yourself again.” Hyunwoo states to my left. Unwillingly, I am returned to my ever unfortunate present, decked out in a stupid vampire costume, a stupid quantity of hair product and makeup, in the passenger seat of Hyunwoo’s pickup truck. We should’ve taken my sedan, this truck makes enough unsavory noises, you’d think someone was trapped under the rusted hood screaming for help. But that also could be me in the passenger seat. Who knows anymore? Just know if I’m to die young, I’d prefer my place of death not to be listed as Hyunwoo’s beater of a car. “Tell me again, how are you almost failing English? You give Plato and that chick who wrote Fifty Shades of Grey a run for their money when you begin mumbling things like that.”

 

I laugh him off and unbuckle myself from the surprisingly well-kept leather seat promptly. “I’m just terrible with deadlines, I guess.”

 

“You should work on that.”

 

“And I’ll let you know Fifty Shades of Grey isn’t as bad as everyone says it is..”

 

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.” I shrug and hop out of the truck, landing a little too hard on my heels. I can’t tell either. I wasn’t satisfied after finishing the first book, but, nonetheless, I sat through it diligently until the very last page.  He continues, slamming the driver’s door behind him, “Either way, you better get that sorted out. It’s too early in the school year for you to be this close to flunking a class - especially one you would actually do well in if you tried.”

 

“Okay, okay, dad.” God, I hate it when he gets like this. Not because I feel guilty - but because, of every feasible and absurd outcome, the worst thing I can do is disappoint someone who supports me as sincerely as he does.

 

Just a few seconds away from the opened brass-colored gates of Minhyuk’s house, Hyunwoo and I saunter up the long driveway, admiring how beautiful his front lawn looks dressed in fallen leaves and Halloween decorations. In the distance, I can hear Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. Of course - Halloween wouldn’t be complete without playing this song at least twelve times. The moment the doors open enough for us to pass, all eyes are on Hyunwoo and I. The guys cheer and pat his back, the girls wink, coo, and bite their lips at me. I don’t know when this happened, when others began to notice my arms, shoulders, face, and the vapid persona I’ve been attributed and afflicted by, that I am perpetually burdened and pressured by.

 

I repress the indifference that swells in my chest as I awkwardly endeavor to acknowledge everyone. I nod, wave, and even cheer to the music, never forgetting to hold my head high. Our coach always tells us to fake it until we make it, and, who knows? They say smiling is enough to uplift people who are down in the dumps, so why can’t I achieve some sense of confidence from simply acting and gesturing as if it were entirely - genuinely - so? However, this does nothing to dissuade the disinterest in tonight’s juvenile chaos. No matter how I’ve cut it these past few years, my propensity for introversion and submissive demand to be unmasked can’t be so easily replaced by false sentiments and motions, and the shallow acceptance of others. Minhyuk, as per usual, runs to hug Hyunwoo and I, screaming in that high-pitched tone that always lives my ears ringing. His face is flushed, but his eyes don’t seem watery or any redder.

 

“Where are you going?” Questions Hyunwoo, who is doing his best to make sure Changkyun and Minhyuk wake up tomorrow morning, after a rounds of shots.

 

“I’m just going to the washroom quickly.”

 

“What for? We just go here.”

 

“To make out with some cheerleader - _apparently_. What do you think?” He doesn’t laugh with me. Instead, he rubs my arms softly.

 

“Open up the window and take a breather.” Instructs Hyunwoo.  

 

“Okay, okay, dad.”

 

**October 27th - Friday - 22:21**

 

[aegyo ma$ter joohoney | 10/27 @ 22:22]: where are you? you’ve been gone for like forever.

 

[i liek turtlez 69 | 10/27 @ 22:22]: I’m still in the bathroom

 

[i liek turtlez 69 | 10/27 @ 22:22]: And for your information, I left like two minutes ago

 

I pocket my phone with a sigh. If I could, I’d strip entirely and hop into Minhyuk’s luxurious marble bathtub. Not for a bath, but for a very (un)deserved nap. To what feels like the twelfth time Minhyuk’s played “Thriller” in the last two hours, I groan, my feet aching excruciatingly. There isn’t anything new to look at on Instragram or even Facebook, and I’ve been staring at the same picture on Kihyun’s Instagram of me getting ready, my back to the camera but face visible through the mirror’s reflection. This was before I began sobbing - not for any emotionally charged reason, unless you count attempting to apply mascara for the very first time and the subsequent trauma that follows neary scraping my left eye from its socket. He and Jooheon both offered to do it for me as they did the rest of my make up any way but, of all things they could do to my face, coming _that_ close to my eyes was out of the question - especially after just barely surviving eyeliner application.

 

“What is even going on?” I ask my reflection, who looks back at me, startling beautiful in spite of the inauthenticity, but, ultimately, awkward to a fault. My phone buzzes against the spotless bathroom counter and I snicker.

 

[aegyo ma$ter joohoney | 10/27 @ 22:24]: god you’ve been in there for so long i know you’re supposed to be a girl tonight, but you don’t have to lock yourself up in the bathroom to take bathroom selfies like one lol

 

I’d like it to be known that I, Chae Hyungwon, never miss a beat. Or at least the opportunity to troll.

 

Mirror selfie after mirror selfie, our group chat is flooded with pictures of my reflection in various poses.

 

[mother hamster 420 | 10/27 @ 22:28]: I swear to god, I’m going to break into that bathroom and fight u if u don’t stop.

 

But, of course, I don’t stop. Why would I? I begin to arch my back and bite my lips, attempting whatever pose I’ve seen models on Instagram do. The photos don’t look half bad, though, that cracking sound my spine made during the second last one didn’t sound good at all.

 

[i liek turtlez 69 | 10/27 @ 22:30]: xoxo love dodo

 

[mother hamster 420 | 10/27 @ 22:31]: What the hell is dodo?

 

[i liek turtlez 69 | 10/27 @ 22:31]: That’s my girl name - Chae Dodo

 

[aegyo ma$ter joohoney | 10/27 @ 22:31]: wow for a pretty girl, that’s a really unattractive name

 

[i liek turtlez 69 | 10/27 @ 22:31]: Jfc. Don’t make me come fight you because I swear, I will.

 

Abruptly, the bathroom door begins to open and I try my best at a feminine giggle, even tossing in a soft hair flip for free, knowing full well Kihyun’s face is certain to be priceless. Perch upon the counter, legs crossed, I purr, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

“Oh? Have you? Finally decided to ditch shortie, huh?”

 

I nearly fall face-first. Not out of surprise, but because, “Wow.”

 

“Excited to see me?”

 

I do my best to keep up with my feminine persona, voice high and light in fear of being caught. “No - just, up close, that really is really, really bad mullet.“ but Hyungwon is Hyungwon, and the words slip out before I can catch them.

 

**October 27th - Friday - 22:35**

 

I hate it when guys treat women unfavorably. I like to think for my age, my self-control is relatively commendable, though I guess the standard is quite low on the topic of teenagers given this is the time we’re supposed to acknowledge and get a hold of our premature impulsivities. All I wanted was to sit out in the bathroom for a quick minute, soak my hands in cold water and poke my head out the window; refresh myself before submerging once more into Minhyuk’s hot kitchen and even hotter living room. There’s far too many people in this house, most of whom I am certain were not originally invited. Do I care? No, not really. Or, at least _I_ don't as long as _they_ don’t cause any trouble.

 

“Come on.”

 

“What are you - hey, no, can you please screw off?”

 

“No one has to know. How about just a kiss?”

 

“Oh my god, you need to back up.”

 

 _This_ is the conversation I walk into when I open the bathroom door. I probably should’ve knocked - just in case someone was really using the toilet, but, at the same time, I’m glad I didn’t. Seated with uncomfortably posture, a tall girl in a white and red-plaid dress is in the middle of pushing away some guy with a terribly unflattering mullet.  Without hesitation, I pry this guy away, pulling harder than I had intended, and he stumbles backwards against the wall. Upon closer inspection, in spite of his height and broad shoulders, he’s thin and easily pushed around. He’s about to open his mouth, shoot back some undignified snarky remark, but, as he pulls away from the wall, I give him one last shove, cornering him. The thud he makes as he hits the wall a second time echoes.

 

He goes to punch me but I grab his arm, and force it behind his back, unbothered by his attempts to shake me off, “Let me go.”

 

I begin to twist his arm harder, answering with a stern, “Guys who treat girls like this aren’t welcomed around here. I swear to god, if you don’t leave right now, I will kick your ass so hard, your mullet’s going to ache too.”

 

“Okay, fine, chill out, dude.”

 

I release him and push him out the bathroom, into the hall where a small group of bystanders have gathered to watch. “If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I will shove that ugly mullet so far up your -” He disappears before I get the chance to finish, though, frankly, I’m not entirely sure where I was going with that. The people watching begin to make my uncomfortable, so I close the door behind me. It’s not until I hear the door click shut and turn my back that I remember I’m not alone.

 

Still seated on the counter, the girl stares at me, eyes wide, mouth open. Curled brown hair, long diaphanous legs, frail arms, and a very sweet yet familiar face - I don’t think I’ve ever see her around school before. I would definitely remember someone this overwhelmingly lovely and good looking.  After a brief pause, she begins to speak, though noticeably timid, her voice scratchy and hoarse, but incredibly cute.

 

“Thank you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonho and Shownu are also vampires like in that Halloween dance practice of Hero. 
> 
> NEVER. FORGET. 
> 
> I promise the next chapter won't be as shitty. I just needed to get through Wonho and Hyungwon at the party. Also, mullet guy is whoever you want it to be. It's


	3. Accidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sorry for the late UNBETA’d chapter - I dislocated my index/middle finger in my left hand a while back, and on both hands there was ripped skin/bruising on my knuckles for some time, so suffice to say I haven’t had much of a chance to work on this for a while. Please pay attention to the timestamps in this chapter!!
> 
> Also, here is a list of some songs that inspire the mood/atmosphere: 
> 
> Red Velvet - Oh Boy  
> Teen Top - Ah-Ah  
> Ga In - Apple  
> Seventeen - A-Teen******
> 
> More songs to come lol

**October 28th - Saturday - 9:58**

 

[papa bear 420 | 10/28 @ 9:58]: Are you ok?

 

[papa bear 420 | 10/28 @ 9:58]: Hoseok is everything ok?

 

[papa bear 420 | 10/28 @ 10:01]: What’s the matter?

 

[papa bear 420 | 10/28 @ 10:01]: We have football practice Monday evening please don’t be dead ok?

 

[lee HOEsuck | 10/28 @ 10:02]: Dude why are you texting me

 

[lee HOEsuck | 10/28 @ 10:02]: I’m literally on the floor beside you

 

[papa bear 420 | 10/28 @ 10:02]: I wasn’t sure if you were up or not yet

 

“Wait, so what if I wasn’t awake? Would you just keep spamming me with texts when I’m literally right here?” Still dressed in last night’s costume, I toss and turn, rolling over gracelessly on the floor to glance up at Hyunwoo, who has is head hanging over the edge of his bed to eye me tiredly. His hair is a matter of infinite disarray. Curled up in my tawdry vampire cape and Hyunwoo’s haggard middle school comforter - the one with the the pen stain on one corner, and monochrome print - I am bombarded with an astonishingly terse thrashing in my temples and rush of self-loathing swelling in my throat. I promised myself I would never attempt to outdrink Hyunwoo, not after the catastrophe last summer that was Minhyuk’s Canada Day party at his cabin.

 

Then again, as much as it pains me to admit it, I’m somewhat of a weak man-child, and some promises are simply meant to be broken. That’s what I tell myself, at least, when this unbearable headache is followed up by an excruciating pain in my gut and vomit rising in the base of my throat.

 

God, I shouldn’t have done shots of Tequila.

 

Tequila does me the _worst_ in the morning.

 

“Probably.” His voice is raspy with an exhaustion typically only Minhyuk’s parties induce. Hyunwoo hadn’t drank as much as Minhyuk, Changkyun or I, but he had definitely consumed enough to produce the regret on his face as he rubs his eyes. “Your phone vibrates like an earthquake, so it would only be a matter of texts until it you finally wake up.”

 

“What’s so urgent that I need to be awake at ten on a Saturday?”

 

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay.”

 

“Okay, and?”

  
“Well, are you okay?” Unlike myself, Hyunwoo had taken the effort to change out of his Halloween costume before dozing off. By my feet is a folded t-shirt and sweatpants he had attempted to offer me. But, from what I can recall of last night’s shenanigans, which is admittedly hazy but most definitely inexcusably belligerent the closer we arrived to home-time, which is a pleasant manner of saying “being forcibly dragged out by Hyunwoo”, by the time we reached his house, I was already unconscious. All I remember from Hyunwoo’s car to his room is stopping momentarily behind the grand oak tree on the front lawn to hack up a lung, and then again in the downstairs washroom.

 

My headache worsens as clouds split apart to reveal the sun, the light blinding, burning my eyes and exacerbating the drumming in my temples. “Well, I’ve definitely felt better.”

 

“You’ve looked better.”

 

“I feel disgusting.”

 

“You _look_ pretty disgusting.” Replies Hyunwoo, and I reach up to grab his pillow from under his head and hurl it at him. The nerve. “I’m joking. Trust me, you don’t look nearly as bad as I did by the time we left. Or Minhyuk.”

 

“No one ever looks as bad as him after parties. He’s a human dumpster fire more often than not.”

 

“Are you good, though?”

 

“I feel awful.”

 

“You really shouldn’t have drank anything. I tried telling you.”

 

“It’s not like I planned on it. God, leave it to Minhyuk to convince me to do anything.” I twist my upper body as I straighten and listen to the way my joints crack. Hyunwoo flinches at a particularly loud crack, but says nothing.

 

“So,” Hyunwoo starts, hopping off his bed onto his feet to throw me some spare clothes. I left my regular clothes in my school bag the back of his car. But, by what little I remember of last night, that outfit could possibly be as good as gone; I’m lucky I even made it back with a shirt still on my back. “What happened between you and that girl? Changkyun was telling me about it while he was helping me drag you to the car. I hope you and that girl were safe.”

 

“Girl?”

 

“Yeah, with a weird name.”

 

My eyes widen. How could I have forgotten? “ _Dodo_?”

 

**October 30 - Monday - 8:01 -**

 

Some days, I am teeming with confidence. Off the top of my head and with very little consideration, I can easily list attributes I appreciate the most in myself - the first that come to mind, in order, being: my height, broad-ish shoulders, how good I am at bull-shitting on the spot, and my face, primarily because I’ve been told often of how symmetrical it is by friends and strangers alike, and, according to science, facial symmetry is considered to be quite attractive. Though, while I don’t know how well this stands up to scientific fact, the notion does absolute wonders on my self-esteem, and, at this age, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything that makes me feel even half as hot as Zac Efron (objectively) is.

 

Other days, Kihyun’s savage predisposition and knack for shitting all over my self-esteem , though lovingly, cuts me a little deeper than intended. When I’m not being an over-confident 6/10, I am constantly plagued by the parts of me I’d prefer went unacknowledged by others, especially myself. These things include: my height (while I adore my height, I often feel _too_ tall - that my height is exceedingly disproportionate to my weight), shoulders (while they are broad in appearance, the thin arms that fall from them are something I’m not particularly proud of), how good I am at bull-shitting (sometimes I’m _too_ good, I fool myself), and my face, because, on a particularly bad day or before tests and exams, I very much ressemble pizza.

That said, as of late, I’ve made it a habit to avoid looking at the mirror in the boy’s washroom for too long - or, at least long enough that all the things I love turn into things I vehemently hate about myself. After a quick glance, I lower my eyes to the sink and wash my hands with cold water, rinsing away the lemon-scented soap with a yawn. Still refusing to pay my reflection more time than it is worth, I allow the automatic hand dryer to disappoint me and wipe my soaked hands on the front of my jeans as I exit the bathroom, leaning my weight against the red door.

 

Overall, would I change myself? Aside from the bad habit I have of biting my lips and rolling my eyes in public when I think of things that annoy me, no, I wouldn’t. Every negative thing I have to say about myself can be traced back to someone else. The concept of altering one’s appearance for anyone other than oneself is absurd. However, realistically, I can see there being a very slim category of exceptions; these include grooming oneself and attempting to look presentable for job interviews, weddings, probably first dates (I wouldn’t know - I really wouldn’t) and Jooheon when he wears that gaudy Justin Bieber shirt. Though he speaks maliciously of Justin Bieber, he says it’s funny to wear because of the irony, but I think deep down he’s a hardcore Belieber. But, of course, he’d _never_ admit to that.

 

Speaking of which, before I can comment on how his black and pink 2011 Bieber shirt looks atrocious paired with his light-washed denim jeans - his favorite ones, with a manufacturer's purposeful rip on the left knee - he’s already rambling on about some underground-indie rapper he’s going to see this coming weekend with his cousin. The youngest of us three, it is moments such as this, when a buoyancy bubbles to the surface, that I notice Jooheon still retains much of his premature features Kihyun and I eventually grew out of into our later adolescence. His cheeks are still a little chubby where my face has noticeably thinned out, and his voice is amidst the early stages of cracking and instability before evening out like Kihyun’s. Once subject to his teasing, Kihyun is now the tormentor whenever Jooheon’s voice flips and flops awkwardly between soprano and tenor. Mine is presently in the state of finding some sort of equilibrium, and, for the most part, it has been stable as of recently.

 

Speaking of Kihyun, he sneaks up behind me with a snicker. His hair is a little messy, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold wind. I can feel winter coming when I look at him, bundled up in his corduroy jacket and navy fisherman hoodie. The blue creates a striking contrast to the reddish orange of his hair. “Who sounds like someone choking on a recorder now, huh?”  

 

Jooheon turns his attention away from me to Kihyun. Flatly, he answers, “Still _you_.”

 

“You fucking smartass.”

 

“You make it _too_ easy.”

 

“It’s because you’re our baby. We have to take care of you.” Kihyun practically sings, raising a hand to caress Jooheon’s cheeky. A smile spreads across Jooheon’s face, wide enough to force his dimples to poke through, only to be replaced by a pained expression as Kihyun tugs on his left ear. “Talk back at me like that again and I fucking swear -”

 

“FIne, fine. God, who knew you could be so scary?” Jooheon whines, cupping his ear as Kihyun releases him.

 

“I’m not in the mood. I bumped into Minhyuk and Hyunwoo on my way up the stairs. They knocked all of my sheet music for choir onto the floor. I had to scramble to pick it up from the bottom of the stairs before they could stomp all over it. If I was strong enough, I would have shoved them both down the stairs.”

 

I laugh. “What do you mean? Minhyuk may be taller, but have you seen him in gym class? He’s a skinny guy - you could take him on easily.”

 

“I could, but not Hyunwoo. Every day during my Friday spare, I see him working out in the fitness room on my way to my locker. Ten out of ten, would not fight. _Ever_.” Kihyun shudders. I shrug as Jooheon leans against the lockers beside him. Kihyun begins throwing his jacket into his locker and grabbing his books. Of the three of us, Kihyun’s locker is immaculate, organized neatly and not so much as a speck of dust. It’s quite amazing, really.

 

“Of the populars, Hyunwoo isn’t _that_ bad.” I state. Kihyun shoots me a glare before plopping his history textbook into his bag. “Even if it’s to save his ass and the football team, he still keeps the guys in line for the most part. Same with the cheerleaders and dancers.”

 

“I guess. Out of them all, I hate him almost as much as Minhyuk, if not more.” Kihyun zips his backpack shut before slamming his locker. The noise of metal clashing rings in my ears, echoing through the empty hallway. “He’s always staring at me. Like, _always_. It’s like he’s mocking me for my height, for being smaller in comparison. Not all of us can be six feet tall and built like a tank.”

 

“Maybe he stares at you because he thinks you’re cute?” Jooheon comments innocently, and I snicker into my shoulder.

 

Kihyun punches me in the arm. _Hard_ . I recoil instantly, whining, “Ow, okay, maybe not. My bad. He may be built like a tank, but _man_ do you punch like one. Where does it even come from?”

 

“Your mom.”

 

“Nice one, dude.” Jooheon praises, raising a hand to high-five Kihyun, who accepts it with great pride.

 

The rest of the day speeds by as quickly as it had started, with very little in the way of entertainment and being awake long enough to register anything that had occured in class. I recall Kihyun tapping my shoulder to wake me at some point during second period, but this memory cuts abruptly to being awoken by the third period bell.

 

Thankfully, we sit in the back, away from our teacher, who’s too exhausted ninety percent of the time and had stopped bothering to chastise me for being equally as exhausted. Maybe she pitied me for being just as tired as her. Or maybe it’s because she’s so far into her pregnancy, any type of physical activity is added stress on her body. Eight months back, at the end of the previous school year, Mrs. Brown had been one of the most petite women I have ever met but, even now, as she takes a sip of her coffee as Kihyun and I exit into the hallway, she still remains as petite. It’s almost as if a basketball had been stuffed into the stomach of her shirt. I always thought pregnant women would gain weight in their legs in order to offset the additional weight, but no. I can’t imagine how small women like her can manage pregnancy - it reminds me of photos of my mother; thin, brittle arms and lithe thighs, yet somehow balancing a behemoth of a belly.

 

Third period, Kihyun has advanced chemistry, while I have advanced English - advance meaning, at our school, taking a class a grade-level higher. With high grades and in possession of an even higher sense of ambition, Kihyun had readily accepted the principal’s recommendation to enroll in senior chemistry the moment it had been offered. In fact, Kihyun has always been somewhat of a model student, or, at least, in comparison to me. This is significantly amplified by a very core dissimilarity only now brought to my attention as I slide into my seat by the door, staring at my phone apathetically as I wait for class to commence. Kihyun gives _way_ too many shits, while I don’t give enough. No matter how the pendulum sways, educational institutions can only lecture me so much before I’m obligated to check out and learn things textbooks and teacher could never dream of teaching me. Outside the door is the busted up water fountain, the “OUT OF ORDER SIGN” taped on the wall above it barely hanging on by a cheap piece of tape; this where specifically I mentally check out.

 

I leave my capacity to care at the fountain, for senior English is actually quite a joke, though, particularly artistic at heart, literature and an embarrassing knack for the English language throughout history have always come as easily to me as choir solos came to Kihyun and luck, it seems, came to Jooheon. My father is an English professor at a nearby university, so, naturally, I have always written and read multiple grade levels above my own. If it had not been for my dwindling grades in other subjects, primarily as math, I would have skipped a grade or two by now - it’s what my middle school principal had informed my parents, much to their dismay. But they never chided me; as long as I did not fail a grade, they were more than pleased with my grades, incredulous standing in English and my optional eighth grade creative writing class.

 

Mr. Choi is at the front of the class, listing various greek gods, goddesses, and other heroes and figures; a colleague of my father’s, who minored in classics during his post secondary career, Mr. Choi’s assignments and selection of works has been consistently unorthodox. During my sophomore year, he had asked us to analyze Ariana Grande lyrics and read the first book of the Hunger Games series. While I’m not a big fan of Ariana Grande, and even less of a fan of recent young adult fiction, Mr. Choi’s eccentricities, propensity for in-class swearing, and attempts at relating to us millennials makes for an exceedingly amusing sixty minutes of my day. If anything, this is one of the few classes I bother to stay awake for. When Mr. Choi turns to check the clock, our eyes meet briefly and we nod at one another.

 

“You look tired today, Hyungwon.”

 

“Just a little.”

 

“Every day, you look more and more like your father.” He comments. I take out my notebook and he comes around the desk to close the door. He says that every other day.

 

“Thanks.” Because, in all honesty, my dad is a pretty good looking guy.

 

After a good hour of introductory Greek mythology involving the mention of various gods and goddesses, with a few heroes thrown in at the very end, listening to Mr. Choi refer to Zeus as a “fuckboy” in an attempt to cater to our sense of humor, yawning every ten or so minutes, and doing my damn best not to peek at my phone, class is dismissed at the sound of the lunch bell ringing in the hallway. Mr. Choi reminds us to read chapter two of our mythology books, his voice booming with such animated excitement, I am fully prepared to take cover for when he inevitably explodes. “Class, please consider partnering up for tomorrow and researching topics for your final assignment throughout this unit. I will be passing a sheet around to keep track of partners tomorrow. Please have a partner by Friday at the latest.”

 

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I exit the classroom before my peers, notebook tucked comfortably under my arm as I reach into my back pocket to examine the lockscreen of my cell phone. A couple missed messages from my group chat with Kihyun and Jooheon, some Instagram and Facebook notifications, but, overall, nothing substantial or out of the ordinary. I’m about to pass the water fountain when I feel a hand on my shoulder. My muscles tighten instantaneously. Though I am overwhelmingly grateful to have never experienced bullying first hand at the level of physical violence, as the saying goes, there is a first for everything, and, of almost everyone I know, I am quite the easy target.

 

Between Kihyun, Jooheon and I, Kihyun, in spite of his height (though, truly, he is not _that_ short comparatively to other boys our age) has the anger of a nuclear bomb, Jooheon is far too loveable to harm, and I, however, have the patience of a saint and am far from loveable - when my self-esteem has a particularly bad day, I go as far to believe I even warrant physical means of bullying. Today, however, it _not_ one of those days.

 

“Hey, Hyungwon, right?” The hand on my shoulder slackens entirely. Glancing over my shoulder with great hesitance, Hoseok greets me with a wide grin - the kind that, for once, reaches his eyes, turning them into mirthful slits. It takes me by surprise so visibly, he can’t help but comment on it. “Why so surprised? We just had class with Mr. Choi together. Dude’s super pumped about this mythology unit.”

 

Small talk is one of my weakest suits, almost as weak as my ankles are in heels, but not as weak as the attempt Hoseok makes at being friendly with me. He’s always been one of the only popular kids I don’t completely mistrust. However, it’s painfully clear he’s initiated conversation with me out of necessity. I come this close to blurting out ‘what do you want’ only to be interrupted, but I’m not mad.

 

“Hey, you’re friends with those two guys, right?” I blank. My initial reaction is to say yes - Kihyun and Jooheon are my best friends. However, “ _those two guys_ ”  could very well be anyone.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Don’t play around.” He laughs, genuinely. “You know - the guy in choir who almost knocked the life out of Minhyuk in the hallway that one time - the one you had to pull away before he could - and the other one with the dimples.” If that isn’t a sufficient description of my friends, I don’t know what it is. I nod, and the excitement on his face doubles tenfold. “By any chance, do you also happen to know the girl they were with at the party this weekend?”

 

As far as I know, we weren’t with any girls. While some of our peers and acquaintances came and went, it was primarily us three glued together.  

 

“Girl?”

 

“Yeah, with the weird name.”

 

My eyes widen. How could I have forgotten? “ _Dodo_?”

 

**October 27th - Friday - 22:41**

 

Many things in my life, for some invariable, and, very likely, serendipitous reason, occur in the blink of an eye, in the blink of my tired, tired eyes. At times, my admittedly small world often appears to dart past me without any fuss, commotion or enough significance to move me. Yet, simultaneously, there are moments that are so unbearably prolonged, I would give almost anything to halt the fermata held strenuously over-head. _This_ , dear reader, is undoubtedly one of those moments. Standing a few inches shorter than me, but markedly more phlegmatic and self-satisfied, with arm muscles worked well beyond his age, Lee Hoseok’s eyes narrow on me, like a missile honing in on a flimsy target. How odd - to insinuate a mere glance can so smoothly dismantle a person, but here I am, apprehensive and seconds away from melting into a pool of my anxieties.

 

Hoseok rests against the closed door and, for a second, what I perceive as respite crosses his previously stern features only to harden, steadying itself back into the cool expression he has plastered on campus.

 

“H-Hi.” I pressure my voice to the top of my throat in a near-falsetto, praying to god I sound like a believable girl.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Thank you.” Short, and simple, but not so sweet to the ears. This will do for now.

 

It is silent. Neither of us know what else to say and, judging by the lush glow in his cheeks, Hoseok isn’t in the right mind to say much. Around twice my weight and width, I can only imagine whatever amount it must take to get him drunk can’t be healthy for someone of my size. I am in the process of excusing myself when Hoseok groans.

 

“Ugh, sorry. I can’t get over how gross that guy was acting towards you just now. No offense - is he your boyfriend?” Hoseok has yet to glance away from me. I shrink from my place on Minhyuk’s bathroom counter, shaking my head shyly. “Ex-boyfriend?” I shake my head again. “Thank god - no girl should ever be in a relationship with someone like that. Especially you. You’re too good for some piece of shit like that.”

 

He pauses and I spit out another timid “thank you”.

 

Hoseok continues. “Sorry, for assuming you guys were together. I hope that doesn’t offend you. Obviously you’re way too hot to be with that guy.”

 

His eyes widen into saucers, but, for comparison’s sake, I don’t even want to know what mine have grown into. Heat jets across my cheeks like  wildfire, unstoppable and so hot to the touch, my palms begin to sweat. I can’t remember there ever being a time I’ve felt so dumbstruck. He sputters, hands raised and waving frantically in front of his chest. “I mean, yeah, as if you didn’t already know you’re super gorgeous. Hah, you must get creepers like that guy a lot. I mean, that must suck, like a lot, and I’m not saying it’s okay or you deserve it, but I guess there are some cons to being really fucking pretty, huh? I mean, I mean…”

 

I suppress a repulsive cackle into my clammy palm, unable to control the trembling of my shoulders as they quake from laughter.

 

“ _Cute_.” The word slips out the instant it crosses my mind. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve blown my cover, but I guess a good thing about puberty is how inflexible yet flexible my voice still is. The light crack as my tongue taps the top of my mouth seems to have saved me. He doesn’t suspect a thing at all.

 

“Cute? Me?” Hoseok points to himself and I shrug, nodding. Where on earth has this side of him come from?

 

“Yeah. You.”

 

“Th-thank you.” He stutters.

 

 _He stutters_.

 

“Any time.”

 

“You’re really cute too.”

 

This time, it’s my turn to stutter.

 

“Th-thank you.” This time, he’s staring at me more intensely, more intently. I lower my eyes from his slicked back hair to meet his eyes, and he glances away immediately. I can’t recall any other moment in my life wherein my heart fluttered this uncontrollably.

 

“Do we go to school together? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” I shake my head, Hoseok becoming visibly confused by my response.

 

“I came with my friends who go to school with people here.”

 

“Cool, cool. I figured. I would have definitely remembered you if we went to school together. Who are your friends?” Hesitation, at times, is a very debilitating and obvious habit of mine. Hoseok detects my apprehensiveness and backs down straightaway.

 

“I’m with Jooheon Lee and Kihyun Yoo - they’re friends with my cousin Hyungwon.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I think I know them - well, I’ve seen them around our school. We don't talk much, but—” Suddenly, the door opens, and both Kihyun and Jooheon are standing there, concerned and noticeably more uncomfortable in their Halloween costumes. Kihyun has removed his cape and is now holding it in his left arm, while Jooheon has undone the top two buttons of his white shirt.

 

“Hyungw—Dodo, we need to go.” They pull me by my wrist, Jooheon spitting out a quick, “Sorry, Hoseok, we need to take her home. It’s past her curfew.”

 

"Yeah, her family would kill us if we brought her home late." Adds Kihyun. Before I know it, we're on the sidewalk, basking in a soft breeze and laughter with no apparent cause. 

Outside, it turns out Kihyun had accidentally - “ _accidentally_ ” -  spilled his drink of Coca Cola, Vodka, and tiny bit of Tequila (as if this matters at all) into Minhyuk’s black Yeezy boots by the front door. Figuring this would infuriate Minhyuk, and seeing as Kihyun was at an obvious disadvantage, surrounded by Minhyuk’s friends, most of whom are jocks, he and Jooheon had no choice but to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. He claims it was accidental, and he won't let me forget it as we drive away.

Jooheon claims to have seen Kihyun drop his cup intentionally. But who knows?

However, what I do know and find to be somewhat odd is for a split second, when I had glanced over to say goodbye as Kihyun and Jooheon rushed me out of the house I swore I saw the faintest expression of disappointment in Hoseok’s face and the ringing of an almost forgotten “ _wait_ ”. It’s kind of funny how, for once, time passed me slowly enough to remember it, possibly grasp it.

 

In my seat, I slap Kihyun's arm with a snicker. 

 

"Nothing that ever happens to us is an 'accident.'" 

 

"Go fuck yourself." Kihyun punches me in retaliation, and I do my best not to look back at Minhyuk's house.

 

Leave it to me to hold onto weightless encounters and 'accidents'. 


	4. Ring My Bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m lowkey also a big NCT fan so side characters are most likely going to be NCT members. They won’t play a big role just btw. I promise shit won’t be dragged out this badly in future chapters; there was a lot I realized had to be covered in this, so it’s noticeably longer than preceding chapters. Also, did I mention this is in Canada bc I’m Canadian leave me alone.
> 
> Songs to set the mood:
> 
> Red Velvet - Oh Boy  
> Teen Top - Ah-Ah  
> Ga In - Apple  
> Seventeen - A-Teen******
> 
> More songs to come lol
> 
> SEVERELY UNBETA'D

 

As always, PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE TIME STAMPS.

 

**Chapter 4 - Ring My Bell**

 

**October 30 - Monday - 19:57**

 

It’s one of those days. The kind that stretch paper thin, to a near translucent degree, and drag perpetually as if to spite, ensnaring one in a state akin to the most exhaustive, numbingly inauspicious demonstration of limbo. A distinct passage of time is discernible, perhaps, at times, acutely so, yet, upon further inspection through the bare eye, there in its open range, only a matter of futile minutes have diminished. What is supposed to have been a simple four hour shift has mutated monstrously into what feels like - and might as well have been -  _ eight  _ hours. A clear lack of customers has me bored out of my mind. The emptiness bores me, the silence bores me. 

 

I could really use a nap. 

 

In the kitchen, Ten sings along to the music from our state of art PA system. A freshman at my high school from Thailand, his crystalline demeanor and inherently high-levels of extroversion make shifts with him pleasant and, when he’s particularly sociable, go by in a blink of an eye. 

 

Before running off to football practice, our shift-supervisor, Johnny, a tall boy, though arguably too young to supervise, only authorized to do so having been born the owner’s nephew, had instructed thoroughly that Ten do inventory while I, admittedly tired, keep a diligent eye on the register and front of the shop. I really cannot comprehend how the owner expects Johnny to manage staff while away at practice, or if his uncle is even aware of his absence. However, Johnny calls the store often to ask how things are going, how the staff are holding up, though, while I assume this surely cannot be enough to keep a shop going under normal, more corporate circumstances, it is not my place to comment on how others manage when I am barely competent enough look after myself. 

 

I get paid to be here, not to ask questions. 

 

This is truly the apathy at which I approach the world and how it seemingly deals with me. 

 

I glance over my shoulder to see how Ten is doing, but he’s disappeared into the supplies closet by now. 

 

Uninterrupted, the clock on the black wall behind me ticks and tocks raucously amidst a near dead silence, heckling me into a dangerously low state of consciousness if not for the shrill ringing of patrons exiting the shop. Three cylindrical chimes hung at differing heights, previously beautiful and metallic, years before my time, now well-loved and rusted from perpetual use, clang against the wooden door to my right. 

 

Presently, four girls - the only customers in the last hour or so - exit with books and binders, and overpriced coffee in hand, bags slung across their shoulders. One girl, the most talkative, with wide hoop earrings and a luminous sun-kissed is tan, is fitted in a brown and gold pullover bearing the mascot of a local university stitched across the chest. It’s the university at which my father teaches at. 

 

The girls discuss with great dread yet buoyancy their university midterms, plans for this weekend, boys and work. The one last in line smiles widely at me and I wave her goodbye timidly. She, for some inexplicable reason, had tipped me well. She also went so far as to make attempts at small talk, though every instance had been ruined to some degree by my maladroit temperament and Johnny calling the store. Her fierce eyes and exemplary facial symmetry ring a bell, but no more than her friends do as they push the heavy wooden door, leaving a the chimes ringing in my ears. 

 

If I had to guess, I believe she used to go to my high school; her senior year had been my sophomore year. What I guess to be her name is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it go.

 

It is that phase of the year where the sun begins to set early. Captured picturesquely by the shop’s sable window frame, freshly dusted and wiped down expertly when I had searched desperately for odd jobs and tasks to kill time, the otherwise blue skies have become smeared by segments of peach, tangerine, and passages of rapidly budding darkness. Night approaches, faster. The warm glow of the setting sun propels a splendid gold deluge of warmth, orange light producing in contrast to it crisp shadows of the store’s furniture against alabaster flooring tiles, and black and white walls. 

 

Though the dearth of consumers is undeniably dreary, the space when cleared of men, women, children, and their excessive chatter is resplendent and easily well coordinated. The walls are an interchanging solid black or white, white floor tiles with succinct onyx lines separating each milky square. To contrast the monochrome theme is custom cherry wood furniture and jocose rogue aprons worn by staff. Arranged atop the windowsill and from the ceiling, tucked away near to the barista counter, in colorful pots hang various plants. 

 

Lucent fauna appear to me glistening gingerly within my periphery. I wonder if they have already been tended to. 

 

Probably. 

 

The lovely environment seemingly heightens my previously diminishing wakefulness. 

 

The dissonance of metal clanging from behind me is succeeded by Ten’s effeminate yelp. 

 

“Yo, are you alright?” I holler over my shoulder as I open the register to recount money. Very little customers have stopped by since my shift had begun. I’ve only provided change twice, most payments having been completed via card, so maintaining the float takes a total of one or two minutes. I’d run to check on him, but, knowing Ten, he should be fine. He is always fine. “Ten?” 

 

“I’m alright!” He chirrups. Ten, every so often, reminds me of a sprite with his animated demeanor and unorthodox liveliness. His voice shoots echoes back at me, the stupid grin on his face clear as day in his tone. His shuffling around can be heard as he returns the fallen items to their respective shelves, singing along softly to Ariana Grande. He loves Ariana Grande. I’m not a fan, but her voice is nothing less than remarkable. Kihyun’s voice, much to my surprise one night at karaoke, suits her music - music conceived by resilient yet powerful vocals covered by, I would vehemently argue, an individual of higher proficiency and technique, Yoo Kihyun. 

 

As of late, Khyun has become irritated by his choir teacher’s desire to issue solos “ _ equally _ ” amongst his class. Often receiving the short end of the stick in order to avoid accusations of favoritism, Mrs. Lawrence? Lockhart? Louis? - the name escapes me, but the image of his iconic pristinely ironed button-up shirt, an unflattering baby blue paisley, pale blonde hair and young age do not - has thrown Kihyun sections of music that, while not ideal in showcasing his strengths to a laudable extent, bore him devastatingly. But, having the agility and flexibility, Kihyun is most suited to pick up the slack. 

 

Or, as Jooheon puts it, teasingly,  _ Kihyun is just as much of a diva as the media portrays Ari, if not more.  _

 

Speaking of which, both Kihyun and Jooheon are to arrive soon as a means of keeping me company until the end of my shift before heading out. The action film Jooheon has been dying to see for weeks is currently on its last night before being pulled from cinema rosters entirely, so, at the strike of eight-thirty, the three of us intend to catch its very last showing. They should be here any moment. 

 

To fuck with them, I purposely ignored the crumbs and dried coffee stains on their usual table by the counter nearest to me as I was cleaning. 

 

“Finally, inventory is done!” Ten roars cheerfully, and hops onto the high wooden stool beside me. As of fifteen minutes ago, when my feet began to give into a prickling paralysis, I have made the executive decision of standing. 

 

“Really? You’re way faster than I am. It took me almost two shifts the last time I did it.” Then again, I am a lazy sack of shit. Ten is a part of our school’s cheer squad and, from what I hear, destroys on our dance team; he has the energy of a power plant. 

 

“I still have some more to do, but it’s pretty much almost done. But, for now, I think it’s time I take a break.” Yawning into the palm of his hand, Ten scans the empty cafe, satisfied. “The store looks spotless. Looks like cleaning up and closing tonight’s going to be a breeze. Are you here until close?” 

 

“Nope, but almost. I’m here until eight thirty.” 

 

Ten turns his head to look at the clock. “Nice! Just under half an hour to go until you’re done. What are you up to after?” 

 

“Just going to see that new action movie that came out last month.” 

 

“The one with the really buff guy from Denmark?” I nod. “I saw that one with Johnny. The acting was kind of bad, but the stunts were cool.” 

 

Just as he is about to continue, the store phone rings. On the call display “ _ SEO, JOHNNY _ ” is shown in flashing text, and, in unison, Ten and I shout ‘ _ nose game _ ’. Swiftly raising my hand to press my index and middle finger to the tip of my nose is the most energy I’ve exerted this entire shift. 

 

The subsequent game of cowardice and sheer laziness is won by no other than myself, and Ten reaches for the phone with slumped shoulders, sighing in defeat before perking up to answer, mustering his energy to spit out a perky, “Hi, Johnny.” His facial expressions drops. “Huh? What do you mean we have new stock in the staff room too? What? Man, I had no idea that was even there. What do you mean I have to do inventory on all the new stock before close?  _ Dude _ , you owe me...” 

 

Ten hops off of the stool to run into the back room, whining at Johnny as he goes before disappearing, his bright tenor following after him, declining into distant muffling by the door separating us. From what I’ve seen, the two are good friends outside of work. I often see them together around school, our school’s linebacker - whatever the  _ fuck  _ that is - and friendly new kid and instant cheerleader and lead dancer, who, to the surprise of our school’s staff, speaks English with great fluency and, more importantly, confidence. Johnny says he helped teach him, Ten discredits him when given the chance. Jooheon thinks they’re fucking. I’d rather not think about it. 

 

The chimes rattle a warm, familiar harmony as I crouch down to tie my shoelaces. I hear what sounds like Jooheon’s text-tone, and I call to him from my spot on the floor. “Hey, took you long enough you motherfuc-” 

 

“Oh, hey, it’s you.” Hoseok’s smile is dangerous to my health, I realize, as I straighten myself. The way his soft lips frame a white and perfectly shaped set of teeth produce a startlingly genuine, pure, delicate smile - the kind that reach his dark eyes. The kind one would not attribute to what most people - primarily Kihyun - would call a “ _ fuckboy _ .” But, perhaps, therein lies the danger; that individuals like him can strike someone as sweet and, worst of all,  _ sincere _ . 

 

“Hi,” I barely spit out. Hoseok hair is slicked back like at the Halloween party. Instead of profuse hair product, it appears to be sweat keeping his black locks pulled back. His skin is flushed and his eyes are tired. If it weren’t obvious enough, he’s still clad in our school’s football uniform - the black, white, and green are all too familiar. “What can I get for you?” 

 

“Can I get a cappuccino to go?” I punch my staff ID into the locked screen and begin selecting order, avoiding his gaze. Instead, I fix my attention upon the flagrant  _ ‘69’  _ on the front of his uniform outlined vividly in green. Why am I not surprised? 

 

I almost laugh. With him and at him. 

 

And Kihyun thinks I’m a degenerate at times. 

 

“Sure, what size?” 

 

“I’ll get a medium.” He pulls out his red and gold debit card, inserting the chip into the machine before entering his pin. As he does this, I attempt to pull together a cappuccino as quickly as possible. The machine beeps happily in acceptance as his payment goes through, and he steps over to the end of the counter where I am making his drink. 

 

“How long have you worked here for?” Inquires Hoseok, leaning against the expensive cherrywood counter. His voice is husky, exhausted. In fact, he looks out of breath.  

 

“It’ll be two years in January.” I answer, still refusing to meet his stare. 

 

“Two years - really? I had no idea you worked here. I always come here Mondays after practice.”

 

“I used to never work Mondays because we were always overstaffed. Now that the owner’s opening another location on the other side of town, they’ve started giving me hours on Monday for the first time.” 

 

“I almost forgot they’re opening a new location. Johnny was telling me about it at practice today.” Hoseok pauses, and the ensuing wordlessness is excruciatingly protracted. He inhales pensively. “So, you’re friends with Dodo, right?” 

 

I almost drop everything.

 

“Yeah, sort of. She’s my cousin.” The words pour out before I have the opportunity to assess them. Too late now. “Why do you ask?”

 

Just then, the door swings open. Jooheon is rapping as Kihyun makes a mediocre attempt at beatboxing. Though his voice possesses a great finesse, this does not include beatboxing. Kihyun and Jooheon sit at their usual table. 

 

“Nothing. Just curious since I saw her at the party, but never saw her at school.”

 

“Uh, Dodo goes to school on the other side of the city. She was free so my friends brought her.” 

 

“Interesting. Hey, wait, come to think of it, I didn’t see you there?” I pour his cappuccino into a monochrome paper coffee cup. “Then again, I did drink a lot. Anyway, super weird, but, I was going to ask you if you happen to know if Dodo’s seeing anyone?”

 

“Seeing anyone?” I repeat, mildly confused. 

 

Kihyun is noticeably appalled, though whether it is by the filthy table I’ve let for them, Jooheon dabbing as he finishes his rap with a “ _ skrrt _ ” or Hoseok’s presence is up for interpretation. 

 

“You know, like, in a relationship? I know, it’s strange of me to ask, and you might be the wrong person to ask, but I never got a chance to get her number at the party so I thought -” 

 

I cut him off so as to avoid the probability of Kihyun bitching him out in the middle of the shop. “Here’s your coffee.” 

 

I hand him the black and white striped cup carefully. Hoseok, wordlessly, accepts the drink with a smile, walking over to the island a few feet away to open one creamer and put his cup in a red sleeve. “Thanks, it smells awesome.” Hoseok comments, placing a plastic lid atop his cup. As he makes his way towards the door, he waves goodbye awkwardly. Kihyun purses his lips as Hoseok calls out a quick, “See you tomorrow!” 

 

**October 30 - Monday - 20:17**

 

“‘See you tomorrow?’ What the hell was that about?” Fumes Kihyun. His orange hair quivers animatedly as he whips his head towards the door, his damaged locks resembling an open, crackling flame. “Why is he acting so buddy-buddy? Don’t tell me you’re friends with him now.” 

 

I sigh and begin wiping down the counter. With less than fifteen minutes left before the end of my shift, I spray Windex liberally atop the marble and wood counter as Kihyun narrows his eyes upon me. “We have English together, and he recognized me.” I wipe the countertop in assiduous, small circles. The volume of product I’ve released is more than enough to cause a high. I hold my breath. 

 

“What about your cousin? I thought I heard you say something about your cousin at the Halloween party.” Jooheon interrupts, head tilted sideways, perplexed. 

 

“I heard something about dating. No, don’t tell me he’s trying to hit up one of your cousins?” Kihyun slaps his palm against his forehead. “He’s so gross.”

 

“But, last time I checked, all of Hyungwon’s relatives either live in other provinces or Korea.” Jooheon counters.

 

I exhale, pulling away from the counter. There’s enough Windex to cause a chemical burn if I linger close to it for long. Though still spotless, I use my cloth, now drenched with cleaner, to wipe down the already clean surrounding tables, including theirs. “Funny story, actually. He was asking about Dodo.”

 

“Dodo?” Both Jooheon and Kihyun repeat in unison. 

 

“Yeah, Dodo. Remember? I dressed up this weekend as a girl and my girl persona’s name is Dodo.” 

 

“What? So Hoseok was asking if Dodo is single? Really?  _ Dodo _ ? What the hell happened between you two in the washroom?” Jooheon breaks out into a fit of laughter, the kind where he folds his arms over his stomach and keels forwards in his chair. Kihyun goes silent instantly, almost as if in thought, and something about it makes me feel scandalized.

 

I shrug. “I was just being nice. I don’t know man. I didn’t want to be an asshole to him because he could kick my ass any day. After all, he got that weird mullet guy to fuck off and stop bothering me, so the very least I could do was not be a total asshole.” 

 

“So what, now he’s trying to ask out Dodo?” 

 

“I guess? I don’t know. He asked me about it earlier after class too.” 

 

Jooheon wipes away a tear with the back of hand before slouching in his chair, his boisterous laughter simmering into a hearty yet faded chuckle in his chest. “Asked about what?”

 

“After class he asked me if I knew anything about Dodo. Before I could say anything or even remember, his friends showed up and I booked it out of there for lunch break. It’s only a coincidence we saw each other again today; he said he comes here every Monday, and I’ve never worked a Monday shift until today.” 

 

“So he asked you about Dodo  _ twice  _ today? Jeez, that guy sure doesn’t give up.” Jooheon pauses before releasing a muffled snicker into his hand. “I mean, to be fair, you did look pretty convincing as Dodo.”

 

“Fuck off.” 

 

“You have the legs and waist for it.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Hey, take the compliment. Dodo is super pretty.”

 

“Fuck off.” 

 

“Jooheon, you’re onto something.” Kihyun interjects. 

 

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, not you too.” 

 

“Thank you! Come on - tell Hyungwon you think he makes a pretty girl.” Jooheon raises his hand for a high five. His smile drops as Kihyun pays him no mind, Kihyun’s sharp eyes having taken a distant facade. 

 

Kihyun shakes his head. “No, that’s not - I mean, yes, you do make a pretty girl, Hyungwon, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Hoseok’s interested in you as a girl, as Dodo. Do you know what this means?” He hops onto his feet. 

 

I make a disgusted noise as I move to other tables around the cafe. “That his taste in women sucks? I don’t know.” 

 

I don’t want to know.

 

“No, not that - but also that, no offense to Dodo.”

 

“None taken.”

 

“I don’t follow.” Jooheon’s brows are knitted together, the cogs in his head having a visibly grueling time attempting to turn. 

 

“Neither do I.” I add.

 

“What? How do neither of you see it? Let’s say Dodo hangs out and talks to Hoseok. Let’s say Dodo digs up some dirt on Hoseok and his friends. The three of us know who Dodo is. Hoseok doesn’t. And, apparently, neither do his stupid friends.” It takes a lengthy second for it all to sink in. An obstreperous tangle of trepidation has tripped an terse frenzy of hyperarousal. My palms grow clammy under Kihyun’s gaze. Though I had expected something more assertive, domineering, the authoritative half- glower which only emerges during instances of great exasperation and, typically, nonviable and illogical thirsts for retribution upon the slightest jab at his pride. Instead, the expression, though cunning, is much softer than I anticipated, and so is his tone as our eyes lock. “I don’t know. All I’m saying is that this is the perfect opportunity to get back at him. Minhyuk’s always walking all over us, Hyunwoo’s always staring at me, laughing to himself and mocking me-”

 

“Okay, you don’t know that for sure -” Jooheon interrupts. 

 

“And what about that time in the cafeteria last year? Do you remember when you dyed your hair blonde and he shouted across the cafeteria at you, ‘hey, faggo-’”

 

“Okay, I get it. Don’t remind me. I was doing a good job repressing that memory up until now.” 

 

“Sorry. But I’m just saying. Imagine the look on his face when he realizes the person he’s trying to get with is you.” I hear this, but the words don’t register as a wave of humiliation washes over me; I hate remembering that, the reason I’d dyed my hair back to black after going blonde for less than two weeks. 

 

“It’s a shocker he didn’t say anything about me dying my hair pink this year.” I mumble to myself. I amble to the back room as the clock strikes eight-thirty and untie my apron thoughtfully. Johnny runs into the coffee shop, clad in football gear. Deep in my thoughts, I almost forget to say ‘hi’. 

 

**October 31, Tuesday, 11:19**

 

“Hey, Hoseok.” I spin around, nearly colliding with a passing janitor. We exchange our apologies as I hike my backpack further up my left shoulder. My back is tight and knotted from yesterday’s football practice, and I try not to wince as Hyungwon jogs over from down the hall. His long legs carry him over to me in a matter of short, staccato-like seconds. It always seems to slip my mind how tall Hyungwon truly is; at a distance, especially when by himself, at his locker or entering and exiting our English class, he appears to be of an ordinary stature, no more taller than I, however, within tight proximity he towers over me quite distinctly. He may even be taller, even if by a few negligible centimeters, than Hyunwoo. 

 

We greet each other as he reaches me. 

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hi.”

 

His hair has been overrun by a blooming fuchsia dye, now faded to a sweet tint reminiscent of Japanese cherry blossoms in sunlight. His bangs are unkempt, though not to a disadvantage as the cut and color of his hair suit him. More often than not, I liken him to an anime or manga character, his long and wiry limbs, broad shoulders, unorthodox fashion, and animated facial expressions are exactly what such fictional characters are modelled after. In his arms are miscellaneous textbooks. Around his wrist, the leather band of his watch just barely hangs around his skin and bones. The gap between his watch and flesh is wide enough to fit at least one finger comfortably. 

 

“Thanks for the coffee yesterday.”

 

“No worries. It’s my job.” 

 

“So, what’s up?” 

 

“I was just on my way to English and saw you. Thought I’d say hi.” This comes as quite the surprise. Our social circles are far from adjacent, and those we interact and socialize with daily appear to be at odds with each other routinely. Though Minhyuk exhibits a seething disdain towards Kihyun, the origins of which he has yet to disclose with me, I bear no ill-feelings to Hyungwon. However, introverted folk such has himself, who stutter their way through conversations, and interact shyly, timidly, do not pique my interest. At times, this can infuriate me. “Also, I thought I’d talk to you about myse- My cousin, Dodo.” 

 

However, the mention of Dodo has effectively captured my interest. Noticeably, apparently, as he continues, though seemingly awkward. “Sorry I couldn’t talk much yesterday. My shift was close to ending when you came in, and my friends were waiting for me. Felt kind of weird talking about it at work, too.” 

 

“Yeah, no, of course. My bad for putting you on the spot like that. Not to mention it must be weird having some guy you don’t know bombard you out of nowhere about a family member.” 

 

“It’s no problem. Dodo and I are close. Like,  _ really  _ close. I know pretty much everything that goes on with her. If you were thinking about talking to her, I just wanted to let you now she isn’t seeing anyone.” We enter our English classroom with eight minutes left before class. Though I typically sit far away from the board, I follow Hyungwon, taking the open seat next to him at the front of the room. I’m a simple person, and he’s caught my interest. 

 

“Has she said anything about me?” I inquire.

 

He shrugs. “Uh, not a lot. She just remembers you from that party on the weekend. She said you helped her when some guy was bothering her, but that’s about it.” I nod, letting it sink in, and he continues. “She thinks you’re really cute. If you want, you should add her on Facebook. She normally doesn’t date, but I convinced her to try talking to you.” 

 

“Really?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Man, really? Is there anything I can do for you? Are there any girls you like? I know some cheerleaders that are single if you were into any of them.” He shakes his head.

 

“Nah, I’m alright. I’m just doing this for her.” 

 

“No shit? Dude, that’s super cool of you.” Mr. Choi enters the classroom, rambling loudly about our group projects. He asks aloud if we’ve decided upon partners yet, and my eyes dart to Hyungwon immediately, who is flipping through our Greek Mythology textbook idly. I tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, do you have a partner yet?” 

 

Hyungwon shakes his head. 

 

**XOXO**

 

_ Hoseok Lee has added you as a friend.  _

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 15:21]: hey what’s up

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 15:44]: do you remember me ? we met at that halloween party on saturday 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 15:58]: sorry for adding you if you think it’s weird lol 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 15:58]: i’m in english with your cousin hyungwon and he said it’d be cool if i added you on Facebook

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 17:21]: Hi! Yes, I remember you. You were the guy dressed as a vampire, right? 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 17:21]: yep!! that’s me. i honestly didn’t think you would remember me

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 17:29]: Of course I’d remember you. You saved me from that creepy guy at the party. 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 17:29]: anything to help a pretty lady :P 

 

**XOXO**

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 20:17]: so what school do you go to? i definitely haven’t seen you around eastview before

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 20:34]: I go to St. Mary’s Cathedral high school.  

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 20:34]: oh!! that’s that all girls private school, right? 

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 20:51]: Yes, that’s the one! 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 20:52]: cool, cool. isn’t that on like the other side of glenwood?

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 21:06]: It is, but it isn’t that far by car or bus. Hyungwon and I are family and best friends, so distance doesn’t matter.

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 21:06]: you guys sound like you’re really close. 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 21:06]: do you guys have a lot in common?

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 21:16]: You could say we’re pretty much the same person lol. 

 

[Dodo Chae | 10/31 @ 21:16]: Anyway, I’m headed to bed now. Goodnight! 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 10/31 @ 21:16]: have a good night! i’ll talk to you tomorrow

 

**November 1, Wednesday**

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 11:13]: whats up? 

 

[Dodo Chae | 11/01 @ 14:20]: Just heading to my last class. You? 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 14:22]: same! 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 14:22]: what class? 

 

[Dodo Chae | 11/01 @ 14:25]: Gym. 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 14:25]: sounds like fun

 

[Dodo Chae | 11/01 @ 14:25]: Not really lol. I’m just going to change and get ready for gym now. 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 14:26]: cool well i’ll talk to you later! 

 

**XOXO**

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 17:13]: heyyy 

 

[Chae Dodo | 11/01 @ 17:31]: Hi.

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 17:36]: what’re you up to?

 

[Chae Dodo | 11/01 @ 21:45]: Sorry! I was busy studying all evening. I’m just about to get ready for bed.

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 21:46]: all good! 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 21:49]: btw what are you doing saturday night? want to go catch a movie or something? i was thinking i could come pick you up around 7pm and we could head to the mall together

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 21:54]: sorry if that made things awkward 

 

[Chae Dodo | 11/01 @ 21:55]: No worries! 

 

[Chae Dodo | 11/01 @ 21:55]: I’m actually busy on Saturday so I won’t be home, but I can meet you at the mall at 7:00 PM if you want. 

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 21:58]: yeah no that’s cool too! see you saturday at 7 then!

 

[Hoseok Lee | 11/01 @ 21:58]: have a gn :) 

  
  


**November 2, Friday, 16:16**

 

For some inexplicable reason, Thursdays are a busy day for the coffee shop. The bells chime as Hoseok opens the door. Behind the counter, Johnny takes notice of us immediately, raising a hand to greet Hoseok and I with a gregarious expression, smiling, waving. 

 

“You want anything? Coffee’s on me.” Asks Hoseok. 

 

I shake my head politely. “No, thanks. I’m alright.”

 

“Are you sure?” I nod. “Your loss.” 

 

Hoseok goes to the counter to talk to Johnny while I, books and notebook in hand, awkwardly grab us a seat in the corner. I swat away some loose crumbs before dropping my books and pristine composition notebook onto the table, and slide into the stiff wooden chair, slouched comfortably with the laziness one would expect of a teenager. 

 

I thumb through the table of content at the front of my Greek mythology book, looking for something that catches my attention. Most of our classmates have made the decision to write about more popular myths - those pertaining to heroes, such as Heracles and his labours - and topics with readily available material online - such as the Iliad and the Trojan war in general, though, I doubt anyone in our class has the patience to tackle such a heavy piece of literature such as this on their own. This is senior English, afterall. I, having been placed a year ahead in English, am in no hurry to bullshit a passing grade. I still have one school year left until I begin barely scraping by like I assume Hoseok is. 

 

With minimal consideration, Hoseok and I became partners for our English class. Ever since I had spoken to him on Tuesday before class, he has made it a habit to sit with me every third period and, if time permits, chat shallowly with me in our seats before class starts or on our way out as the bell rings. 

 

Despite a typically distant and standoffish attitude, Hoseok, an over-inflated adolescent of facile interests and endeavors, has proven to bear a rather amiable nature. Whilst remaining comfortably detached in our exchanges, friendly or academic, we’ve been able to maintain a pleasant yet distanced working relationship,  though his mentions of football and celebrity trends, and brief rants about the cold weather bore me intensely. 

 

The authenticity of his sincerity, however, is one I ruminate upon. How promptly he has warmed up to me raises fathoms of suspicions. If not for Dodo, Hoseok would have never given me the time of day. That I know for certain. No matter the nuances Dodo has imposed, Hoseok’s friendly demeanor is undoubtedly a deeply knotted tangle of simple pleasantries. 

 

Speaking of which, Hoseok walks over with two coffees in hand, and, somehow, his left shoe has stubbornly untied itself. His medium-wash denim sherpa jacket is one size too big, but his brawny physique assists significantly in diluting the appearance of drowning in it. Stitched into the left arm is a red and white ‘SUPREME’ patch. Authentic Supreme or a knock off, it’s difficult to know conclusively. Minhyuk is known to throw money around like confetti, especially on close friends.

 

“Thank you, but you really didn’t have to get me anything. I work here.” I say, looking up at him from my book as he places a cup in front of me. Scribbled on the side of the cup is what he had ordered for me. I blink at it, astonished. “A caramel macchiato with extra caramel drizzle. Wait, how did you -”

 

“I asked Johnny what your favorite is and he said you normally drink this. Thought I might as well get you something to drink while we’re here.” Hoseok answers as he pulls out his book and a manila pad of ruled paper on a navy clipboard. 

 

“Thanks again.” I ignore my coffee momentarily to pass over my book to Hoseok. It is still opened on the table of contents. He takes it and begins to look over it. “It’s not our final project yet, but Mr. Choi wants us to hand in a short essay about something we’ve covered so far. Was there anything you were interested in reading and writing about?”

 

“What about this?” He scoots closer, but not too close; just enough to see what he is pointing at. The displeased noise I emit is purely unintentional. “What? No? Why not?” 

 

“Jason and the Argonauts? Really? Jason kind of an asshole, but he gets what he deserves at the end.” 

 

“Was he? I thought he just sailed the seas and, like, did heroic deeds and had to be tied down because of sirens or something.”

 

“I mean, kind of? How much did you read about Jason?”

 

“Not a lot.”

 

“Well, to summarize, Hera made Aphrodite make Eros make Medea - a witch you don’t want to fuck with - fall in love with Jason. She offers to help Jason get the golden fleece only if he promises to put on a ring on it if he survives. Jason, not thinking this could blow up in his face, is like ‘yeah, ok, sure.’ Jason survives and sails away with Medea and they have kids. You’d think this is the end, but, no. Jason decides it’d be a good idea to marry the princess of Corinth named Creusa and essentially tells Medea ‘sucks to suck’. Medea is ultra pissed off, gives Creusa a dress that sticks to her body and burns her to death, and Creusa’s dad, king Creon of Corinth, burns to death too for trying to help her. Medea kills her children she had with Jason out of fear they’d be captured as slaves or murdered brutally when people find out what she did, and then escapes on a chariot pulled by dragons. If things didn’t already suck enough, Hera stops caring about Jason after betraying Medea and their marriage - which is like a huge ‘fuck you’ to Hera - and lives the rest of his life sad and dies alone after a part of the Argo - the ship he and the Argonauts sailed - falls on him while he was asleep, killing him instantly. And, if you thought what Medea did was bad, before all that even happened, she also convinced these two girls to chop up their father and boil his body and that’s not even where Jason’s story even begins, like...” I look up at Hoseok. 

 

Hoseok’s mouth drops. 

 

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you guys talking about? That sounds terrifying.” Behind Hoseok, Ten is wiping down an empty table with a disgusted expression. 

 

“Jason - the Argonauts and golden fleece guy. Greek mythology.” I reply easily. 

 

Johnny walks up to take away the empty coffee mugs pushed to the corner of Ten’s table. He shrugs before moving on, nodding his head, “Hmm. Savage violence - sounds like Greek mythology. Makes sense.” 

  
  


I turn my attention back to Hoseok. He shuts his mouth as I continue. “So, did you still want to read up on Jason?” 

 

He shakes his head. “That was… a lot. Like,  _ a lot _ . Good on you for somehow knowing all of that, but, how about something with less dying?” 

 

I blank. A Greek myth, where no one dies?  _ Does something like that even exist?  _

 

“How about that one about the guy? His wife or girlfriend or whatever dies, and he goes to the underworld to save her? The worst thing in that one is he messes up and she isn’t able to come back to life.” 

 

I shrug. “You mean Orpheus? I’m pretty sure after he screws up bringing Eurydice back to life, he gets killed by beasts or overly-aggressive drunk women.” 

 

Hoseok blinks, his ability to stomach the violence seemingly pushed. “Okay, well, it’s a lot better than what happens to Jason.” 

 

“I’m surprised you know how that myth goes. It’s really bittersweet.” 

 

He shrugs his shoulder as he sips his coffee slowly. “It’s like the only one I know and read. I actually really liked it a lot.”

 

“Really?” 

 

“I don’t know. I thought it was cute, I guess. Either way, this one is pretty short and will probably easy to do.”

 

“Yeah,” I say nodding my head. I reach for my untouched coffee. It’s grown to room temperature. “This can work. It’s short, but simple enough to cover quickly.” 

 

The next hour is coated with a thick silence, pricked and prodded by the cafe sounds, by the skittering of shoes and chairs moving against hardwood, dozens of small talk blurred into a monotonous ramble of men and women, Ten and Johnny manning the fort until the next worker arrives around five o’clock, and the door opening and closing, eliciting a keen jingle and jangle of the store’s chimes. Hoseok is familiarizing himself with the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, while I, cold coffee in hand, attempt to brainstorm possible ideas to pose in our essay and come up with an idea for a final project. A pop quiz was mentioned some time during class yesterday, but that’s the least of my concerns. Group assignments require all parts to contribute to the whole, individual assignments and tests are dependent on oneself; Hoseok can fail it for all I care. 

 

“So,” My eyes lift from my notebook to meet Hoseok’s stare. He’s taken off his jacket, and it hangs on the back of his seat. Without it, he looks very out of place, an athlete with booming muscles in a whole in the wall coffee shop, surrounded by hipsters in plaid and beanies, and over-stressed university students in letterman jackets and hoodies. Hoseok bites his lip, shoulders deflating a little; he’s quite stiff. “Remember how you were talking to me about your cousin the other day? Well, we’ve been messaging here and there lately and, uh, we’re going on a date tomorrow.”

 

_ Shit _ . 

 

I haven’t even begun to make sense of how to act around Hoseok when the topic of Dodo comes up. I feign happiness and congratulate him. “Nice! I hope things go well.” 

 

I bite my tongue. So desperately I want to ask him why in the world he’s telling me. Had Dodo been a real cousin of mine, I would not want to head about her love life from a possible interest. Hoseok smiles. “Thank you! I’m surprised she actually messaged me back. I’m just… Sorry. You’re probably the last person I should be telling this to.”

 

“Oh, no problem.” 

 

“It’s just - between you and me - she’s really nice, and I’ve never met a girl who didn’t immediately want to… you know.” I purse my lips. While I don’t doubt his luck with women, something about Hoseok makes me both want to scream and deck him.  _ Must be nice being that hot.  _ “Sorry again. It’s tomorrow and it’s the first time I’ve felt this nervous before. But anyway...” 

 

“Don’t sweat it.” I reassure him with great insincerity. “I’m sure she’ll like you.”

 

But she’s not, and I don’t like you. 

 

“You think?” 

 

No. 

 

Really, no. 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m sure Dodo’ll tell you all about it. She said you guys are really close - like best friends; when she tells you, it might be as if you were right there with us.” He laughs and I, putting my empty coffee cup down, chuckle with him. “Anyway, this was a good talk and it was nice getting together for English. I gotta go home and help out with dinner and get ready for a party tonight.” 

 

He packs his things away into the largest compartment of his backpack and slides on his thick jacket, offering a short smile as he waves goodbye.

 

“See you at school on Monday.” 

 

I raise my hand in goodbye. 

 

The shop door swings to a sharp close behind him.

 

_ See you at the movies tomorrow.  _

 

The chimes ring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for their first date!!


End file.
